


On the Side of Angels

by Yidenia



Category: Jessica Jones (TV)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-12-06
Updated: 2015-12-06
Packaged: 2018-05-05 09:04:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,697
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5369570
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Yidenia/pseuds/Yidenia
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>What if Jessica Jones had met Kilgrave when they were children?</p><p>"Jones. Jessica Jones."</p><p>Ice crystallized over his stomach. Kilgrave blinked, then blinked again. Her accent was completely American, and her features were toned now, almost too thin, all the baby fat gone and the rosy cheeks of childhood, but when he looked for them they were there; the large, doe-like eyes under the solid black brows, the slightly upturned nose. Her mouth was wider, and her jaw more defined, but all of the sudden he could not unsee the similarities, the transformation that could not have been more natural. The more he looked, the more he realized that she could be no one else.</p><p>"You..." his voice shook, and he might have fallen to his knees had he not been completely stunned. "I thought you were dead. I thought they had killed you."</p>
            </blockquote>





	On the Side of Angels

**Author's Note:**

> Semi-AU, and taking some liberties with the canon (okay, a lot of liberties, but hopefully the characterizations stay true to the show).

_ Twenty-six years ago  
_

**_Tick. Tick. Tick. Tick._ **

The room was dark, but his eyes still hurt. The clock was quiet, but the second hand sounded thunderous. His whole body hurt, and he would have writhed in pain if he had any strength, if moving would not be even more painful.

_"We're only doing this because we love you."_

He stared at the back of his eyelids as the clock wound on. Over the pain, his head itched where the electrodes were glued on, but he did not move to scratch. Scratching would tamper with data, and the last time he had tampered with data…

_"…the only option now is to double-book the schedule. Infuse for sixteen hours instead of eight, please. We need to make up for time."_

Under his pillow, there was a book. He had stolen it from one of the technicians some time ago. Yesterday he had been strong enough to read it, but after the treatment he could not even contemplate focusing on the words.

_Step right this way and see the side show! An act never before seen in the scientific world! A mouse and a moron turned into geniuses before your very eyes!_

His minded drifted, to flowers, strange shapes blooming from the walls, the door. His bed spun in lazy circles and the ceiling showed pictures of fantastical places; ships that sailed on clouds before becoming tables, tables that strapped him down as his mother announced, _"Administering point two five Narcoxan…"_

_For science._

When he woke fully, the pain had gone down to more manageable levels. He reached for the book, sliding it under his blanket. He needed to read it in secret, since he was not technically supposed to have it. There was nothing else to do during times like these, though; his room was small and bare, with a bedstand, a bed, a table, a chair. One small window looked out over trees. Sometimes he imagined that Bambi was out there; he had read the book some time ago and often imagined the titular creature moving serenely in the distance, musing about buzzing midges.

He liked Flowers of Algernon better, though. The main character spelled worse than even Kevin, and there were a lot of nuances within the book that he did not understand, but he felt a kinship; an idiot, made genius for the purposes of science.

Time passed. He was nearly done with the book when one of the orderlies opened the door.

"Come on, kid," the man waved impatiently, "time for your treatment."

Kevin sat up slowly. His muscles felt stiff. His stomach cramped with hunger, though he felt no appetite. Time was time though, and the clock kept ticking. If he dawdled too long, he would be punished. Kevin pushed himself to his feet.

Kevin obeyed. He had no choice. He never had any choice.

* * *

_Now_

"Sir, how many people?"

It was not even that he enjoyed controlling people. That had lost its novelty years ago. These wretches, with their useless brains thinking useless thoughts, were indistinguishable from the background. It was convenient, to reach into that part of his mind where the power is stored, and just make everything work for him. He barely noticed he was doing it anymore.

"Clear the restaurant; I want no one else in this place tonight, except the chefs and the waiters, of course."

"I'll clear the restaurant," the waiter agreed, his eyes taking on that vapid look that everyone had when they were under the influence. Kilgrave unbuttoned his coat as his thralls conducted their work, and when an old couple protested, he spared a breath to order the patrons to just take their belongings and go anywhere that was not here. The customers left en mass, and the waiters prepared a table by the window, where Kilgrave took his seat.

A couple of young women walked through the front door, laughing obnoxiously at whatever inane thing one of them said.

_Seriously?_

"Damn it, I _said_ I want _no one else_ in this place tonight! Get out!"

The women instantly turned about-face and left the way they came, abruptly silent, but his mood, which had not been entirely serene to begin with, grew ever more foul. _  
_

_Say you love me._

_I love you._

He dug the joints below his palms into his eyebrows.

When he first acquired his powers, it had seemed rather matter-of-fact. He had suffered. Days and nights blended together in his agony, until he no longer knew his own name. He was a beast, nothing more than reaction and reflex. Then…at last, a gift. A way to treat others the way he had been treated.

But Jessica…Jessica did not deserve it. Out of everyone in the entire universe, she was the one individual who _did not deserve this._ It was something Kilgrave knew, from the moment she had a name, but he could not help himself. She was already under his influence, and he did not know how to let her go. It was probably just as well that she was the only one to break free of him on her own. He knew. Actions had consequences.

He hated. He hated whatever powers that were that made him fall ill. He hated his parents, for treating him like a lab rat, their ticket to the Nobel Prize. He hated the people who sponsored their work. He hated the agents who caused the car crash.

Most of all, he hated himself, for becoming a monster, a man who was so thoroughly unworthy of Jessica Jones, she would choose to flee from him even as he lied there, dying on the pavement.

* * *

_Twenty-four years ago_

_"I love you,"_ his mother would say, as she pushed the syringe into his neck. Kevin was never sure what it really meant. The books said one thing, but people seemed to do the other. Love seemed to be something people liked, but he never liked it when his mother said it.

_"Be a good boy and **stay still**."_

He had some neurodegenerative disease. This was all to save him, they said. _It's all for your own good._

His father never reacted when he screamed. His mother never hugged him afterwards. He never knew what it felt like, until Jessie.

"Here," she offered him a plate with toast and peanut butter and jelly. "That's all I could get right now, I'm sorry."

She was a slight thing, plump yet slender limbs and rosy but thin cheeks, yet she was still a good half a head taller than Kevin. Her bedroom was incredibly girly; all pinks and violets with whites to brighten the ambiance, and her bed had soft dolls and stuffed lambs, curling wool twisting over their heads and backs. Outside the room, she would occasionally argue with her brother, a young boy of six who clearly idolized his sister, but was not mature enough to comprehend non-verbal cues. He always wanted to play with her, but Jessica was hiding Kevin and always had to pretend that she did not want Phillip around.

 _"We should let my parents know! They'd help!"_ she had insisted two weeks ago, when Kevin had first escaped from the institute and she had smuggled him into her room through careful timing. It was, she pointed out, rather much to expect a nine-year-old to hide a living, breathing human being in her parents' own house. Kevin had planted his foot down, though, and she reluctantly allowed that telling Phillip would be just as bad as telling her parents. Since then, the other three members of the Jones family thought Jessie was reaching puberty. It had irked her; she was a spirited girl, occasionally mischievous and stubborn, but she was never as inconsiderate as she had appeared after she saved Kevin.

"Did you eat?" he asked, taking the peanut butter and jelly.

"Not yet," Jessie admitted guilelessly. "I told my parents that I wanted to eat in my room in order to finish some last bit of homework. They were watching me when I left the kitchen."

Kevin felt awful. "I'm sorry Jessie…you should eat it. I'm okay."

"No. You're sick. Sick people need extra care. I'll be alright."

"But—"

"No buts." Her eyes were somehow even sterner than her voice. "Eat. I have to pack and get ready for school."

He wolfed down the toast and butter because he was starving. Jessie went to the bathroom with him when he had to go. Kevin never had reason to be self conscious about being with someone in the bathroom, even a girl, and if Jessie thought this was awkward at all, she never commented.

But their luck ran out.

"Jessie?" Her mother knocked on the door before the two could escape from the bathroom. "Come on, you're going to be late."

"I'll be right there, Mum!" Jessie called out. "You can go without me; I'll meet you at the car!"

"Jessie, what are you doing in there?"

"I'm _pooping_ , Mum!"

"Well hurry up, come on."

And then Alisa Jones waited outside the door.

Jessie tried to get her mother to leave to no avail; in fact, the harder she tried, the more suspicious the woman appeared to get. Kevin traded frightened looks with the girl; it was all a long shot, they both knew, but it had been going so well over the past two weeks, he had started to think they might pull this off indefinitely.

"Jessica, open the door, _right now._ "

They could not hold it off any longer. Jessie had tears in her eyes, long eyelashes clumping together with the droplets. Kevin was the one who opened the door, to face whatever awaited. More pain. More tests. The bare, dim room with the window overlooking an apathetic forest. He tried to take comfort in the fact that if the Jones handed him back to the institute, at least he had enjoyed these last two weeks of…freedom.

Alisa stared at him, face expressionless but eyes bright with shock.

In the next instant, Jessie grabbed him in her arms, a desperate hug that squeezed the breath out of him both for the physical tightness and the innocent love that propelled it.

"You can't send him back, Mummy!" she cried. "They'll hurt him! You can't send him back! Please let him stay!"

* * *

_Six months ago_

America was uncouth, generally fat, naïve, gullible, and thoroughly lacking in any understanding of the term "subtle", but Kilgrave was having the time of his life. These days, life was so terribly dull; when one got everything one asked for, very little remained _exciting._ It was a good decision to come to the United States. They really did have some truly remarkable assets. Especially in a place like Manhattan, where those from all walks of life converge on the same set of blocks, there was everything under the sun to be found here. Broadway, Brazilian steakhouses, the Avenger's Tower (which he would have to visit at some point) and the Metropolitan Museum of Art. The only thing New York City did not have was Walmart, but why would anyone want to go there?

"Now, where do I want to go for dinner?" he ignored the homeless man sitting miserably next to a wall, a cardboard sign saying 'PLEASE HELP ME, I AM A WAR VETERAN AND AM NOW HOMELESS AND UNEMPLOYED. GOD BLESS YOU.' Dumb twat smelled like shite, and he spared a moment to order the fool away; that did not help the lingering scent, however, so he was compelled to lead his two thralls away as quickly as he could to escape the stench. "Hm. Not really in the mood for Italian today, and Middle Eastern is…just too much garlic."

The two women were nodding like bobbleheads, as if what he was saying were insightful philosophy. He was use to that, and it was amusing sometimes, but he was getting a bit tired of it this time.

"Stop doing that," he snapped, and was about to elaborate on what exactly it was that they were to stop when _it_ happened.

Well, _it_ was a woman, though at first he thought she had been more a force of nature than anything remotely human. Her mane of black hair swirled like a stallion's tail, and within minutes, she finished disposing of two heavyweight thugs with her bare hands.

_What? What? What the fuck was that?!_

He clapped his hands together in glee and shouted out when she turned, revealing her face. What a beauty she was!

"Bravo!" He laughed. "That was _amazing!_ Wasn't she amazing?" He turned to look at his thralls without actually meaning to and blinked when they nodded that stupid nod. _Oh for God's sake._ "Right, no. I'm done with you two. Go away." He turned to that force of nature. "But you! Here I am, just debating where to eat, and then, bam, there you are! Performing feats of heroism. Come here, let me look at you. Come on." 

She came, her eyes empty and unfocused, but he did not care; he was focused on her, and that was all that mattered. "Jesus you're a vision. Hair and the skin. Appalling sense of fashion, but that can be remedied. And underneath it all, the power. Just like me. Though not quite as good, of course. Tell me, did you enjoy beating those thugs?"

"Yes."

"Yeah?" He restrained another bellow of laughter.  _Just like me. Exactly like me!_ "Why?"

"Because I helped someone. I made a difference."

_…Okay, must be an American thing, this self-righteous—but she's being honest, actually._ That was somehow both disgusting and endearing. "Well, how noble. What's your name?"

"Jones. Jessica Jones."

Ice crystallized over his stomach. Kilgrave blinked, then blinked again. Her accent was completely American, and her features were toned now, almost too thin, all the baby fat gone and the rosy cheeks of childhood, but when he looked for them they were there; the large, doe-like eyes under the solid black brows, the slightly upturned nose. Her mouth was wider, and her jaw more defined, but all of the sudden he could not unsee the similarities, the transformation that could not have been more natural. The more he looked, the more he realized that she could be no one else.  
  
"You..." his voice shook, and he might have fallen to his knees had he not been completely stunned. "I thought you were dead. I thought they had killed you."

She did not respond.

He lifted his hands and gently took her by the upper arms. His hands shook.

"Do you remember me?" He whispered. "It's me."

She tilted her head a little. "No. Who are you?"

He suppose he had changed, perhaps. Instead of being shorter than her, small and weak, he was taller, wiry, no longer full of fear. It was dark, the lighting was good because it was New York but still not as good as old-fashioned daylight. It would be reasonable for her not to have recognized him, just as he had not recognized her.

"K—" he stuttered, and summoned a name he had not used in over twenty years. "Kevin Thompson. It's me, Kevin Thompson."

But all this provoked was a puzzled frown.

"I'm sorry," said Jessica Jones. "Perhaps you took me for someone else. I don't think I ever knew a Kevin Thompson, unless we met before the accident."

"The accident," he repeated numbly.

"Yes," said she. "I was in a car accident when I was nine. I lost a lot of my memories from before. Were we neighbors?"

* * *

_Twenty-four years ago_

" _ **Noooooo!**_ " Kevin shrieked, thrashing as the orderlies dragged him back. Before him, Albert and Louise were speaking to a man in a black Belstaff.  _" **Please!  
**_ Mama, Papa, **_please!_** _"_

"This can't—just—no," Louise shook her head, ignoring her son's cries as if she were completely deaf to him. "That family knows. We need to do something about them."

"I'll take care of it," said the man in the Belstaff. "You just make sure you keep your boy in line and give us bleeding results. _Leave the Jones family to me."_


End file.
